


Alpine Interlude

by AVegetarianCannibal



Series: Slice of Life [10]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, France - Freeform, French alps, Injury Recovery, M/M, Skiing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Between their road trip through France and their wedding in Italy, Hannibal and Will stop for a while in Chamonix. Hannibal makes a new enemy. Will makes a booty call.





	Alpine Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shukkhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shukkhy/gifts).



 

The rental chalet in Chamonix is actually a mazot, Will learns from Hannibal's spontaneous history lesson as they walk inside for the first time.

"In the 1700s and 1800s, the French and Swiss farmers who lived among these mountains built mazots to stand apart from their houses." He ducks through the low doorway that separates the kitchen from the sitting room. "They stored their valuables here so that, in the event of a fire in their homes, these things would be spared."

"That's... interesting, I guess," Will says.

Hannibal eyes the narrow staircase that spirals up into the bedroom from the kitchen. It's barely wide enough for Cephi as she hops up the steps to investigate.

"It's a tragedy of irony," Hannibal says as if correcting him.

Will drops the first of their luggage and shopping bags onto the floor. "What's so tragic about it?"

"To be built to hold the collected hopes and dreams of generations," Hannibal says, then glances at the shopping bags. "Now to be filled with the best Ikea has to offer."

Will brushes past him and gives him a slap on the ass. "Come on. Let's go put some of those Ikea sheets on the bed and then mess them up."

***

As Will wakes up the next morning, he remembers Hannibal saying something about going for a ski first thing in the morning. He also remembers turning him down and feels a little guilty about it. Their stay is, after all, something of a pre-honeymoon ahead of getting married in Italy. But holy shit, is it ever cold out there. Hannibal was very understanding and kissed his brow before leaving, and promised he would need a thorough warming up when he got back.

Will smiles at the thought. Perhaps he'll greet Hannibal at the door with a mug of cocoa, a pair of wool socks, and nothing else. Then they'll need a mutually thorough warming up. It'll be like their first night on the boat together, clinging to one another for warmth, except with the added bonus of knowing that they each want the same thing.

Cephi is snoring softly in her bed near the heater. She has her sweater on, so Will supposes Hannibal took her out for a bathroom break before heading out. Of all the things he once imaged he would love about Hannibal, his great affection for a dog wasn't one of them.

His phone buzzes and Hannibal's picture pops up on his caller ID.

"I was just thinking about you," Will says as he answers.

"I need help," Hannibal says.

Will sits up in the bed. Is this it? Have they been discovered? "Where are you?" He calms himself, preparing to go into hunting mode.

"Approximately half a mile due south of the rental," Hannibal says. "Follow the ski tracks."

Will is already putting on his thermal underpants and socks. "Should I bring a gun? A knife?"

"I'm not in danger," Hannibal says. He sighs. "But don't bring Cephi, either. I don't want her to see me like this."

***

Will, in well insulated boots, follows Hannibal's ski tracks down the hill. It's a gentle slope, and should have been an easy route for Hannibal to take. But as he approaches the half-mile mark, Will sees that the tracks suddenly veer off to the east, but deeper indentations in the snow continue southward.

"Hannibal?" he calls out, not bothering to use his alias.

"This way," Hannibal calls back.

Will squints into the distance and sees what he assumes his Hannibal's glove-clad hand waving at him. Will waves back.

He looks down at his feet before setting off again, and notices animal tracks dotting the snow across the path just ahead of where Hannibal's skis apparently went their separate ways. About ten yards following the tracks is a mountain hare, nosing through the fresh snow for frozen grass. A picture begins to form in Will's mind. He assumes Hannibal's point of view.

_I set off on skis at dawn because I'm a ridiculous, ridiculous man. There's a naked fiance in bed behind me, but for some reason I continue on. "I'm still young and filled with vitality," I think smugly to myself, when suddenly, a mountain hare jumps out in front of me._

_I have only a split second to decide. Do I ski right over this buck-toothed cousin to rodents, consigning him to death? Or do I attempt to change direction too quickly and flip my middle intermediate phalanx at Newtonian physics?_

_Before I know it, I'm tumbling through the snow, through the air, through everything but that overgrown bunny. My skis have departed my boots and continued on their way. I roll downward on my own and come to a stop at a dip in the hill, where I call my hot fiance to come to my aid._

_This is my... well, it's not my design._

_This is my disaster._

Will reaches Hannibal, who is leaning against a tree and not putting any weight on his left foot.

"Did you break it?" Will asks.

"A sprain," Hannibal says, "but a bad one."

Will gets Hannibal's arm around his shoulder and tugs until Hannibal leans into him. He's not going to point out that Hannibal has endured worse and walked it off, because he suspects Hannibal wanted him to see the site of the accident and figure it out for himself.

"So you swerved to avoid a rabbit," Will says as they begin shuffling home.

"Did you see the beast for yourself?" Hannibal asks. "He had murder in his eyes."

"You didn't want him to die," Will says.

"I'm _not_ becoming a vegetarian," Hannibal insists.

"Heavens no," Will agrees.

"I was not aware of making any conscious decision to save his life," Hannibal goes on. "If I had it to do over again, knowing the price would be the integrity of my ankle, I probably would have mowed him over like an army tank."

"You wanted me to see," Will says.

"I wanted you to carry me through the snow," Hannibal corrects him. "How did you put it? Even Steven?"

"Hold on, then," Will tells him.

"Pardon?"

With no additional warning, Will slides one arm under Hannibal's back and bends down to get the other one under his knees. He plants his feet apart and, with an admittedly constipated-sounding grunt, sweeps Hannibal up off the ground. Oh, his shoulders are going to hate him for this later. Truly _hate_ him. But he can take turns with Hannibal tending to each other's sore spots, he thinks, and trudges through the snow, soon to carry his fiance over the threshold.

***

He only sets Hannibal back down again when he comes to the bottom of the stairs---the very tight, very spiral stairs.

"Let's check your ankle first," he says. "Before we decide it's even worth trying to get you up there and then down again every time you need to go to the bathroom."

"I will _not_ be felled by a sprained ankle," Hannibal sniffs, but lets Will guide him to the sofa.

Cephi comes prancing down the stairs at the sound of her favorite person's voice and lets out a happy yodel. As soon as Hannibal flops down, she hops up after him and lays herself across his lap.

Will undoes the buckles on Hannibal's ski boot, but the boot doesn't budge. He tugs harder, eliciting a soft hiss from its wearer. "Looks like you're pretty swollen already."

"Thank you for the diagnosis," Hannibal says. "Doctor Graham."

"I'd say more of a Nurse Graham," Will says. He looks up to give him a wink. "I'm not enough of an asshole to be a doctor."

"At least the view is pleasant," Hannibal.

"Thanks," Will says.

"I meant the actual view," Hannibal says, nodding toward the large window that overlooks the ski-out. The snow is so white, it looks almost blue, and a carpet of pine unfurls up to the mountain peaks beyond. "Although the nearby view is nice enough, I suppose. Especially when he takes his shirt off."

"Not until I get the heater going again," Will says. "Now, hold on to something. I'm going to give this boot a hard yank."

Hannibal rolls his eyes. "Will, I've been branded, shot, and tossed off a bluff. I hardly think a sprained ankle is---"

Will yanks just then and Hannibal bites down on the rest of what he was saying. Although he's utterly silent, Cephi picks up on his distress and stands up on her hind legs to lick his chin.

"I'll go get some ice," Will says.

He goes into the little kitchen and finds a plastic bag, but no ice in the freezer, so he goes outside to fill the bag with snow.

Hannibal narrows his eyes when Will approaches with the bag. "That which injured me, heals me."

"You injured yourself," Will says. "Don't blame the snow. C'mon, let's get that foot up."

He slides over an ottoman and helps Hannibal pick up his leg. The ankle really does look bad, Will thinks, and can't help but think of the first time he noticed it. He presses his lips together against a laugh.

"Is my suffering amusing?" Hannibal asks.

"Sometimes," Will admits. "But in this case, I was thinking about when I looked over at you in that vet's office Chiyoh brought us to. In the middle of almost dying, I noticed what beautiful legs you have. In particular, your ankles. Such a weird thing to notice in such extraordinary circumstances."

"They're extraordinary ankles," Hannibal says. Will gives him a look. "What? False modesty is so terribly crass."

Will molds the baggie of snow around the immodest joint. "Do we have any bandaging or do I need to go to the store?"

"Check my toiletries bag," Hannibal says. Will is at the top of the stairs when the additional requests reach him: "And could you bring my slippers back down with you? Not the soled ones, but the soft wool ones? And Cephi's new blanket? Oh, and my phone charger?"

Hannibal, Will can already tell, is going to be a model patient.

***

By evening, the bruising has bloomed, leaving the skin all around Hannibal's ankle a hideous, mottled shade of eggplant. He can't put weight on it without injuring it further, so the decision is made to have him sleep on the sofa downstairs.

Well, Will makes the decision. Hannibal is less than pleased.

"You're going to leave me here?" His eyes are as wide as Cephi's when she can't believe all the bacon is gone.

"I'll be right upstairs. You can text me if you need help getting to the bathroom."

"It's just that we've hardly been apart since we've been together," Hannibal says. "What if I can't sleep without you snoring next to me?"

"You're the one who snores," Will corrects him. "And we were apart for weeks when you were playing at being an art dealer. We survived."

"Only because you hunted me down," Hannibal says, "and pounced on me in my hotel room like a wanton hussy."

Will bursts out laughing. "Okay, just for that, I won't be pouncing on you like a wanton _anything_ for a while!"

"Fine by me," Hannibal says with a lift of his chin.

Will kisses his forehead. "Goodnight, you dork."

***

Will lies in bed, alone, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how he's going to have to eat his words.

He can smell Hannibal's shampoo on the pillow beside him, and the lingering scent of their sweat mixed together from when they made love the night before. Hannibal had only briefly complained about the roughness of the Ikea sheets on his knees and elbows before Will took him from behind. He didn't complain about anything after that.

Will reaches into his boxers and gives his dick a few strokes, but it isn't satisfying. It isn't what he wants.

He gets Hannibal's "little bottle" out of the nightstand and slicks up two fingers. He gets his hand back into his shorts and pushes inside himself as far as he can. It's closer to what he wants than jerking off is, but it still isn't quite right.

He sighs, picks up his phone, and calls Hannibal.

He hears the phone trilling downstairs before Hannibal picks up.

"I miss you," Will says before Hannibal can even get out a greeting.

"It's only been three hours," Hannibal says.

Will moves his fingers in and out, relaxing the tight muscle. "Are you saying you don't miss me?"

"I miss you terribly," Hannibal says. "If not for my grievous bodily injury, I would dart up the stairs right now, fleet as Mercury."

"I could come down there," Will says.

Hannibal gasps in exaggerated fashion. "Is this a late-night booty call?"

Will can't decide whether to laugh or cringe. "That... might be the most incongruous thing I've ever heard you say."

"A midnight liaison, then," Hannibal offers. "A passionate tryst before dawn. A melding of bodies in the fleeting hours, throbbing in unison..."

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Will says. "I wanna get laid, not write a cover blurb for a romance novel."

"Then come and get it," Hannibal says in a low, breathy voice, and honestly it's so corny that it shouldn't be hot, but it is, and it turns Will on way more than his own fingers did.

He tosses his phone aside, throws off his underwear, and rolls out of bed all in nearly one seamless move. He has to slow himself going down the treacherous stairs, because wouldn't that be just his luck to also sprain something? Then they'd both be screwed, and not in the way that Will is craving.

The main room of the mazot is, for a moment, breathtakingly beautiful. He'd turned off all the lights before going to bed but left the drapes on the window open at Hannibal's insistence. The only illumination is the icy lavender glow of the moon and stars, filtering in through the trees and glinting off the snow. Hannibal sits up as Will approaches. His hair is the same color as the moonlight.

"What are you waiting for?" Hannibal asks.

"Just taking in the view," Will says.

Hannibal holds out his hand. "Do you find it particularly inspiring?"

"You could say that," he answers, taking Hannibal's hand.

Careful of the injured ankle, Will straddles Hannibal's lap and leans his forearms against the back of the sofa. He has some height on Hannibal this way, and nuzzles into the crown of his head. "Mm, I missed your smell," he says, then works his way down to kiss Hannibal's brow and scarred bridge of his nose.

Hannibal tilts up his head so that the next kiss falls upon his lips. It makes Will's heart race. It always does. Every kiss might as well be their first, and every one makes him hungry for more.

He moves his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Hannibal's belly.

Hannibal's hands slip down to cup his ass, giving it a good, hard squeeze. Will responds with an encouraging grunt and thrusts forward again.

Hannibal slides a finger inside him and crooks it in exactly the way that makes Will see stars every time. "Already made yourself ready for me?"

Will moves his head in something that feels like a nod, but he's already too far gone to be entirely sure.

"That takes _some_ of the fun out of it for me," Hannibal scolds him, gently.

"Just fuck me already," Will says, or maybe he just makes a needy sound that Hannibal understands to mean that. “ _Please_.”

He shifts just slightly so Hannibal can reach underneath him to get his cock out from the fly of his pajama bottoms. Will feels the wet, swollen head pressing against him and relaxes instinctively. He settles back down onto Hannibal's lap, spearing himself until he feels impossibly full and stretched, then leans back and pushes down that last half inch with gritted teeth and sheer determination.

"Oh," Hannibal gasps.

Will holds onto the back of Hannibal's neck for leverage, then gets his feet up onto the sofa back on either side of Hannibal's waist. It looks something like a cross between an inelegant squat and riding a mechanical bull, but he's not going for aesthetics, here. He wants the best, deepest angle and he doesn't care what he has to do to get it.

Throughout most of it, Hannibal seems too stunned to react much at all. He just sort of stares at Will, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Then it's like he finally snaps out of it and meets Will's ferocity with his own, grabbing at his arms and kissing whatever skin he can reach, and so hard that Will can feel the points of those sharklike teeth pressing in.

Will makes a sound that would be no more than a random grunt to anyone else, but Hannibal understands. He wraps one hand around Will's cock and matches the pace of his frantic thrusting.

Hannibal's breath catches. Will feels his pulse pounding beneath his fingers, or maybe it's his own pulse. Everything's mixed up together until he can barely tell who's who at this point. The muscles in his calves and thighs are burning from effort and awkward positioning. His fucked-up shoulders are in agony. His hands start to lose their grip on Hannibal's neck, slick with sweat. He comes first, as if it's his own body's act of self-preservation, in thick spurts all over Hannibal's fist and belly, dribbling down onto the flannel of Hannibal's pajamas. He lets his grip on Hannibal relax, and there's immediate relief in his shoulders, and an equally immediate sensation of falling backwards.

Hannibal catches him just before he flops backwards off the sofa and somehow flips him over so that he's kneeling and Hannibal is behind him. He has just enough presence of mind to push back with his hips, giving Hannibal a better angle for those last few, long slides in and out of his ass. The sensation of Hannibal coming inside him is another thing that will always feel like a first to him, every time. Even as familiar and simply _right_ as it feels, it always feels like an epiphany he's never had before.

He crawls up onto the sofa and Hannibal collapses half on top of him, legs in a sprawl, pajama pants still half on.

"How's the ankle?" Will asks when he finds his breath again.

"Screaming," Hannibal says. "I think being branded hurt less."

"Sorry," Will says, and mostly means it.

"I could have turned you down," Hannibal reminds him. "The blame isn't yours. Or not solely yours."

Will enjoys just breathing regularly for a while, then reaches for the blanket to pull over the both of them.

"You know, I once went without sex for five years," he says. "Hardly noticed it. Didn't really miss it. Then we get together, you and I, and I turn into this... this..."

"Wanton hussy?" Hannibal offers.

Will elbows him. "Asshole."

"We want one another as we've never wanted anyone else," Hannibal says, "because there's never been anyone else as we are to each other."

"I mostly understood that," Will says. "The blood is still finding its way back to my brain."

Hannibal makes a drowsy sound of agreement.

In the closeness of the afterglow, Will thinks about telling him some of his ideas for Italy next month. He realizes now that he went about proposing to Hannibal the wrong way, and wants to make it right. Confessions leap onto his tongue, but he presses his lips together. He'll let it be a surprise. Telling him now would be no better than his random, casual proposal in a random, casual hotel room.

He turns his head and kisses the top of Hannibal's head.

"I just hope your ankle's all better by the time we get to Italy," he says.

Hannibal fights back a yawn. "Mm. You'll just have to go easy on me, I suppose."

"Yeah," Will says. He can picture himself a mere hour from now, ready to go again. "We'll see."

 

 

(to be continued in Italy!)

 


End file.
